CHAPTER VIII
A WITCH AT THE WINDOW
When the children woke the next morning, there was no Helma. Her bed hadnot been slept in. They had been too sleepy the night before to wonderat her absence, but now they could hardly believe their eyes. The roomwas strange and lonely without her. The fire had died in the night. Theysat up in their beds and talked about it.
"She always comes back before bedtime," said Ivra. "She has never stayedaway before."
Eric said, "Perhaps that is why the Tree Mother brought you in andundressed you--perhaps she knew our mother had not come back. She lookedwise, as though she knew everything."
"She does know everything,--at least everything in the forest. But didshe bring me in, right here in her arms, Eric!"
"And undressed you while you were sound asleep."
Ivra laughed with delight, and clasped her hands. "Truly, truly? Thedear Tree Mother undressed me? Are you sure? Did she kiss megood-night?--" But suddenly she grew solemn. "Yes, she knew that motherwas not here. She only takes care of those who have no one else. Well,we will have to wait for mother, that is all. She will surely come thismorning."
But she did not come that morning, nor that day, nor for many days. Youshall hear it all.
The children laid the fire, together,--shivering but hopeful. Ivra gotthe breakfast, teaching Eric, so that next time he could help. Theychattered and played a good deal, and really had quite a merry time overit. It was only at first that Ivra was solemn over Helma'sdisappearance. Soon her good sense told her that Helma loved them both,and nothing could keep her long from her children.
After breakfast they washed and put away the dishes. Then they tidiedthe room. They hurried over it a little, perhaps, for it was a brightwinter day, and all the forest was waiting to be played in. Before theyran out, they put a log on the fire that it took both of them to lift.If Helma should come back while they were away, she must find a warmhouse. Ivra skipped back after they were outside to set out a bowl andspoon for her, and stand the cream jug beside them.
Then away they fled, running and jumping in the frosty morning air. Ivrataught Eric some games that could be played by two alone. They wererunning games, climbing games, hiding games, jumping games. Ivra wasswift and strong and unafraid. Her cheeks reddened like apples in thecold. She was a fine playfellow.
Not until they were hungry did they think of home. Then they ran, handin hand at last, jumping the garden hedge like deer, their heartsbeating with the expectation of running straight into Helma's arms. Butno Helma was there. Nora had come with the milk, left it, eaten the restof the porridge, and gone away again without waiting for a word with anyone. The children wished she had stayed. They needed some one to talkwith about their mother. Of course they knew she would come back, all inher good time. Ivra made Eric understand that. But the room seemed evenemptier without her than it had in the morning. They cheered each otheras best they could, drank a lot of the fresh milk and ate some nuts.They wanted to get away into the forest again and forget the emptyhouse, so they did not try to cook anything.
They played hard all the afternoon. Towards twilight it grew warmer andbegan to snow, great wet flakes. They ran home, leaping the hedge again.The house was still empty. Helma was not there.
They stirred up the fire, and sat down on the floor in front of it totalk over what they should do. Then it happened,--the strange, thebeautiful, the frightful thing! Eric saw a face at the window. It was soperfectly beautiful, that face, that he wanted to shut his eyes againstit. It almost hurt. It was the face of a young woman, very pale, butwhen her eyes met Eric's they filled with dancing laughter. Her hairunder her peaked, white hood glistened blue-black like a river in thesnow. She lifted a small white hand and tapped on the window pane,nodding to him merrily.
Ivra turned at the sound of the little fingers on the glass. When shesaw the face, she started to her feet with a frightened cry, and rushingto the door, drew the bolt.
"She can't get in. She can't get in, Eric. Don't be afraid. We aresafe." But the poor little girl did not believe her own words. She wastrembling.
"Why, I'm not afraid," said Eric, running to the window. The merry eyesdrew him. Now her mouth danced into smiles with her eyes. She madepretty signs to him to open the window and let her in.
But Ivra pulled him back. "Don't you know? It's the Beautiful WickedWitch!" she whispered.
But Eric was impatient. "How can she be wicked when she's so beautiful!"he exclaimed. He was so little used to beautiful people in his life thatnow he was fascinated and delighted.
The Beautiful Wicked Witch looked at Ivra then, and Ivra saw how hereyes were dancing, great black eyes full of splendor and fun. She caughther breath. She laughed back at the Beautiful Wicked Witch. She couldnot help herself. But her hands flew to her mouth to stop the laugh.
"Shut your eyes, Eric. That must be best, not to look at her at all.That is what mother did when she came before. She bolted the door andthen we sat down in front of the fire and never looked at the windowonce, while she told me a long, lovely World Story about Psyche and herlittle playmate Eros. Then when we had forgotten all about the BeautifulWicked Witch, we looked at the window by accident and she was gone.Come, I'll tell you a World Story now, the same one."
But Eric hardly heard what she was saying. He moved nearer and nearer tothe window. Ivra followed him, charmed by the laughing face there too.Then together they unbolted the windowpane and opened it outward. TheBeautiful Wicked Witch stepped in.
"How silly to be afraid of me, children," she laughed. "I have only cometo play with you."
"Oh goody!" cried both of the children together. For now that she was inthe room all their fear and wonder had vanished.
It was dusk, and so they lighted all the candles and poked the fire,before they turned to entertain their guest. But the candles did notburn very well, very faintly and flickeringly,--and the fire fell lowerand lower, instead of growing higher and higher as they nursed it.
"Don't mind about that," laughed the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "There'senough light from the window for us to play together in. We won't botherwith the stubborn old fire and the silly little copy-cat candles. Come,what shall we play?"
But the children had been playing hard all day, and their bodies weretired. "Oh, tell us a story instead of playing," begged Ivra. "This isthe time when mother tells her very best stories."
"Well, I am not mother," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch; "but I willtell you the best stories I can. Come sit near the window where thelight is stronger. That fire will never burn while I am here. I ambrighter than it, and the old thing is jealous."
The children laughed at her joke. But it was true,--she was very bright.Her eyes seemed to light the room, or perhaps it was her gown, like anopal fire, blue and pink and purple, changing and glowing, and made ofthe softest silk.
Ivra nestled close to her knee where she could stroke the gleaming silk.Eric sprawled on the floor at her feet, his face upturned to hers.
Then she told them a story. It was not like any of Helma's WorldStories, but the children liked it. It was all about a gorgeous bird shehad at home in her tree-house. She told how she had heard it singing onemorning in early spring, high up in the branches of her tree, and howshe had watched it day after day flying back and forth in the forest,its yellow breast flashing among the green leaves. It had a long goldenbill, and its tail was black as jet; and its wings were the softest grayin the world with a feather of jet in either one. Its song was theclearest, the highest, the purest of all the bird songs in the forest.It was a wonderful bird, and she wanted it for her own.
Then she told the children how she had set traps for it, and how it hadescaped every time. But at last she had made a dear little cage, allwoven of spring flowers and leaves, and put food in it. Still the birdescaped, pulling the food out with its long bill and never gettinginside the door. And finally she told them how she did capture thatwild, shy bird by learning its song and singing it sitting in hertree-hous
e with the window open, until the bird heard and came flying inwonder to find what other bird was calling it. Then she had closed thewindow and the bird was hers. It hung now in the pretty cage in herprettiest room, and sometimes sang in the middle of the night.
Eric liked the story, and all the better because it was a true story.And the Beautiful Wicked Witch said he could see the bird himself if hewould come to her house. He could stroke its bright breast, and it wouldsing perhaps. Then there were other things caged in her house, cunninglittle animals, and some big ones, worth any boy's seeing.
But Ivra answered for Eric, shaking her head hard. "No, no. Motherdoesn't want us to visit you."
But Eric said, "May I open the cage door and the window and see the birdflash away? I should like that."
"No. Well, perhaps," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "Will you comethen?"
"I can't, I suppose, if Mother Helma doesn't want me to. Are you sureshe doesn't, Ivra?"
Ivra was sure.
The Beautiful Wicked Witch laughed then. "Of course, if you _tell_ hershe won't let you come. But if you came without telling, how could shemind?"
"That sounds true,--but someway it can't be," said Ivra. And that seemedto end it.
But after a little the Beautiful Wicked Witch began another story. Thisone was about a frock she had made, a wonderful thing all of cobwebs andviolet petals, with tiniest rosebuds around the neck. If Ivra were toslip that frock over her head, and unbraid her funny little pigtails,she would look as pretty as any fairy in the world.
Ivra was not too young to want to be pretty. If she would only go to theBeautiful Wicked Witch's house, she could try on that dress, and wear itfor one whole day if she liked. Ivra clasped her hands. But then shethought, and asked a question. "Could I play in it, and run and climb?Would I be as free as in this little old brown smock?"
The Beautiful Wicked Witch raised her hands in horror. "My cobweb frock!Why, it would be ruined! It would be in shreds! How can you even thinkof treating it so!"
So Ivra shook her head until her funny little pigtails flopped from sideto side. "I don't want to wear it then for even a minute. What fun wouldthere be?"
"Well, think about it anyway," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch, and roseto go away. "It's the fir, you know, beyond the white birch."
"Thank you for the stories," said the children.
"Good-by," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "Perhaps Eric will rememberand come. It's a gorgeous bird, and I haven't said he couldn't free it."
Then she slipped out into the snow flakes, turning to give them onedancing look over her shoulder before the door swung to.
Up flamed the candles, clear high flames when she was gone, and the firecrackled again, and took on new life, reaching higher and higher.
They got their supper together rather silently. But just before going tosleep Ivra roused herself to say, "Let's promise each other we won't goto the Beautiful Wicked Witch's fir until mother comes home,--and we cantell her how jolly the Witch is, and what good stories she told us."
"I don't want to go anyway," answered Eric, "unless I can free thebird."--But you see, he had not promised.
After a while, "Did you notice how pale her face was when she wasn'tlaughing?" asked Eric.
"Yes, and not so beautiful then. Mother may come in the night, and wenever know it till morning!"
Soon they were asleep, a tired, but happy little girl and boy.
I think the Tree Mother sank down in her air-boat to look in at them andopen the door wide, which they had forgotten, so they would have freshair all night; but it was dark, and the room was shadowy, so perhaps itwas only the wind.